


A Case of Amortentia

by BakerSt_Irregular



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Wizarding World, Case Fic, First Kiss, M/M, Solving crimes, based on actual Sherlock Holmes stories, the domestic life of wizards, they still at 221b though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:55:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22092163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakerSt_Irregular/pseuds/BakerSt_Irregular
Summary: Sherlock and John help a client whose pen pal lover has mysteriously disappeared. The boys discover something else along the way.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 48





	1. The Case

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this for my final in an honors class that was entirely about Sherlock Holmes and Harry Potter (yes it was a real class, best class ever). the prompt was to put the Sherlock characters into the Harry Potter Universe.

“Merlin’s beard, Sherlock! What are you doing?” John exclaimed as he walked into their shared flat. Purple sparking smoke billowed into the living room from the kitchen.

“I’m trying to make a more efficient Sleeping Draught,” stated Sherlock, like it’s obvious. He withdrew his wand from his pocket trying to clear the room of the smoke at least. John shook his head and walked towards the living room table. He picked up the _Daily Prophet_ , which had become credible again since the Second Wizarding War.

“What do you think of the experiments happening in Bristol?” he asked perusing over the _Prophet_.

“Boring,” Sherlock replied absently while fiddling with his muggle microscope. He had created a spell that made the microscope a more effective instrument. “Also, not my style.”

John huffed with amusement as he continued to browse the paper. The two continued about their domestic business in silence for some time. Then, around five o’clock a knock sounded on their door. John and Sherlock’s eyes met, collectively thinking _Client_. No one really knocks unless they are a client. John got up from his chair and looked out the window to see her pacing before the door opened.

“Boys, someone is here for you,” Mrs. Hudson called up the stairs.

“Send them up,” Sherlock called back. Moments later a young woman appeared in the doorway. She was on the smaller side with an average stature, a delicate face, and blonde hair falling just past her shoulders.

“Hello, Mr. Holmes. Dr. Watson,” she said in a small voice. “My name is Mary Sutherland.”

“Miss Sutherland, please take a seat,” Sherlock gestured towards the chair that was reserved for all of their clients. They all took their respective seats, the boys ready to hear her story. “Are you perchance related to Thomas Sutherland, the potioneer?”

“Why yes, he’s my father. Pardon me, was. He passed a couple of years ago,” Mary replied.

“Our condolences,” John said with empathy. Sherlock nodded, his eyes scanning over the young woman, gaining information.

“I wasn’t sure whether or not to bother you with this Mr. Holmes, but you helped my friend Julia with her little problem, so I figured you could help me with mine,” said Mary.

“We shall do our best with whatever conundrum you have Miss Sutherland,” replied Sherlock. “Give us your whole story and try not to leave anything out.”

Mary took a deep breath and began.

“A year or so ago my mother remarried. He is only ten years older than me. I thought the arrangement strange after father had so recently died, but I went with it because James made my mother very happy. Shortly after, I began my correspondence with Hosmer Angel.”

“What employment does James-” Sherlock interrupted.

“James Windibank.”

“Ah. James Windibank have?” he asked.

“He’s a Federal Identity Commissioner,” she replied. Sherlock nodded, and she continued. “I received my first letter from Hosmer Angel about nine months ago. I had previously not known this person, yet he addressed me by name. When I inquired about it to him, he said that he had talked with my stepfather about finding a companion. Anyway, Hosmer and I corresponded for many months back and forth, but never in person. Finally, this week he told me we could meet in person.

“When Tuesday came, I went to the place we had agreed upon and waited. For five hours. After the fifth hour, I went home and wrote him a letter. I have written him every day since multiple times, but he hasn’t responded at all. Like he didn’t even exist. Please help me find my love, Mr. Holmes, I need to tell him that I love him,” Mary finished with desperation in her eyes. Sherlock had been listening intently.

“Do you have any of the letters with you?” he asked.

“Yes, I have all of the letters here,” she said as she reached into her small purse. When she produced a large bundle of letters, the boys noted the Undetectable Extension Charm on the purse. Sherlock stored that information for later, she seemed like a witch to keep an eye on. She handed Sherlock the letters. He looked at her silently asking if he could open them, she nodded for him to proceed. Mary and John sat silently and watched as Sherlock examined a letter and its envelope closely.

“Do you know what kind of owl delivered these?” he asked when he looked up.

“It was a, um,” she thought for a second. “Well, I think it was three different owls. They were all Barn Owls of different colors.”

“Fascinating,” he said bringing the letter packet to his face unknowingly. Sherlock made a face of confusion when the letters got close to his nose. “Miss Sutherland, are these letters perfumed?”

“I believe so. Whenever I open them I smell roses, cheesecake, and lavender soap. It smells so nice, I really love it,” Mary said dreamily. Sherlock scrunched his face in further confusion as he inhaled the letters again.

“Miss Sutherland, do you know where Mr. Angel worked?”

“I believe he is a Ministry official, though I can’t remember what department,” she said. John looked between the two trying to piece together the puzzle on his own.

“We will do what we can. Though, I am not sure we’ll will find him, especially if he doesn’t want to be found,” Sherlock said.

“I understand, but I will be loyal to him forever. No matter what,” she replied.

 _Interesting, why would she do that?_ Sherlock thought.

“May I keep these letters for the investigation?” he asked

“Of course, that’s why I brought them. Oh, and can we please keep this quiet, I don’t really want this getting out, especially to James,” she pleaded.

“Why?” John responded.

“When I asked James to help me try to locate Hosmer, he told me to let the whole thing go and just drop it. I’m afraid that I might upset him if he found out I went against his wishes. I don’t want to know what the consequences would be,” Mary said. John and Sherlock shared a look but nodded.

“Thank you, and good luck,” she sighed, then she got up and left. Sherlock watched her leave all the way out the door before turning to John.

“John,” Sherlock said to catch his attention. “Take these very cautiously and smell them.”

Confused, John took the stack of letters from Sherlock’s extended hand. He sniffed them quickly, then sniffed longer. A puzzled look crossed his face as Sherlock watched.

“That’s not perfume it is?” John asked an amused Sherlock.

“Nope,” he popped the p as he said it. “What do you think it is John?”

John briefly sniffed it again. Everything about the scent was familiar, yet not at all what Mary Sutherland had described. He thought about it for a second before he recognized the scent.

“Is it Amortentia?”

“Nice, John. Now, what do you think of the rest of it?”

“Random guy got cold feet?” he guessed.

“Nope. Think about it. Lonely girl from a wealthy wizarding family looking for companionship,” Sherlock recounted.

“Wait, where’d you get that from?” John asked.

“The way she clasped her hands, tightly as if someone were holding her own hand, begged for companionship,” he responded.

“Alright. Go on, give me the rest,” said John prompting him. Sherlock sat back in his chair after taking the stack of letters back from John.

“Her mother recently-ish remarried. Soon after, her correspondence with Hosmer Angel begins. Now tell me that doesn’t sound like a fake name,” Sherlock smirked with John following suit. “Her new stepfather works for the Federal Identity Commission. That is an extremely easy job in which you can create a fake identity if you desired, though it is technically illegal, so it’s automatically fishy.”

“So, if he created Hosmer Angel, several things. One, how do we prove it? Two, why deal with Amortentia? And three, why suddenly disappear?” John thought out loud.

“I have an idea on how to prove it, but it will take some time. All of the letters were written with a Quick Quotes Quill, which all have distinct characteristics and take on some of the quirks of their owners. If I’m correct, then he got this strange version of the Amortentia from his new wife’s late husband’s stash of potions,” Sherlock looked at the letters in his hand and gingerly put the pack of letters on the table. He abruptly stood up with an idea and ran into the kitchen to get his gloves from the table. “Don’t touch those letters again unless you’re wearing gloves. Understand John?”

“Alright,” John responded wearily. Sherlock then grabbed the first letter off of the top and opened it. He glanced over it, holding it as far from himself as possible, but still close enough that he could still read it.

“It says in this one that is dated last Friday to meet him this Tuesday and ‘no matter what happens, she must pledge her allegiance to him and only him for the next few years,’” Sherlock looked at John with indignation. “This guy is an absolute prick. With the letters being laced with the potions every time, Miss Sutherland must have an extremely high dose in her system at this point. She may have been willing to accept this offer.”

“So, he used the potion to make her an offer that would be difficult to refuse under that much love potion,” John realizes out loud as he leans back in his chair. Sherlock nods at him confirming his suspicions.

“Precisely. Now, I thought the answer to your third question would have been obvious, but I’ll help you out,” Sherlock said smartly, putting down the letters and sitting in his own chair. “I knew her father was a potioneer and that he came from a very old wizarding family, which most of the time means money. Since Thomas Sutherland was an experimental potioneer specifically, he had quite a lot of money in his vault I’m assuming. It’s difficult to do experimental work without large sums of money to fall back on.

“When Mary started feeling lonely, the prospect of her taking her share from the family vault and leaving must not have been a pleasant thought in Mr. Windibank’s mind, even if he did marry for love,” Sherlock explained.

“Wow,” John said. He wasn’t sure if it was because of Sherlock’s ability to get all of that from a single person or of the complex scheme to keep money in the family. “How are you planning to prove it now?”

“Working on it. I have an idea, but it will take a couple of days,” replied Sherlock. He got up and took the stack of letters to the kitchen where he found a sack that would mask the smell of the potion and quickly shoved them inside it. John watched in enjoyment and curiosity, and eventually went back to reading the previously abandoned paper. Sherlock came back into the living room and began writing profusely in the purple ink that John used to record their adventures. John saw the use of his ink but didn’t think anything of it other than he should get Sherlock his own pot of purple ink, maybe he would like that.

**Two Days Later**

“Mail’s here,” John stated. Sherlock grunted in acknowledgment. John went over to the blonde barn owl with the letters in his beak and the _Daily Prophet_ attached to his leg. The owl squawked wanting its payment. “Alright, don’t get your feathers in a twist, give me a second.”

John went to the bookcase and opened an ornate jar filled with owl treats.

“There you go,” he said. “Have a safe flight.” The bird ate the treats and flew back out of the living room window. John looked down at all of the letters delivered. _Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock, and John?_ He read. He walked into the kitchen and unceremoniously dropped Sherlock’s pile on the kitchen table. John took a seat across from his companion and opened the single letter addressed to him. His confusion as to who sent him a letter melted into annoyance as he read the letter from his sister. Sherlock looked up from the muggle microscope at John’s change in mood. Based on John’s expression, it looked like the letter was from his sister and she started drinking again.

Finally, Sherlock looked at the pile to his right. The first letter was from Mycroft who was very obviously not happy about something. _Whatever_. The second was Lestrade wanting help, but based on his unrushed handwriting, he could probably work it out on his own. The third was the letter he was waiting for. He examined the envelope and ink very closely before opening it. He read through the letter closely.

“YES,” Sherlock suddenly exclaimed making John start.

“What?”

“I’ve got the final piece of proof. John, grab the sack of letters,” he excitedly jumped up from the table and moved into the living room. John followed behind blindly grabbing the sack. When he reached him, Sherlock reached a gloved hand into the sack and pulled out a random letter. He put the letter he just received on the table, next to a letter he had received yesterday, and the letter from Mary Sutherland.

“Look at them, John. Do you see anything strange?” he asked him. John stepped closer to the table to examine the letters, careful not to touch them, he noticed that the handwriting seemed to be the same and in the same ink.

“They all look like they are from the same person,” he remarked.

“That’s because they are,” Sherlock smirked, his eyes alight with information.

“What do you mean?”

“The letter on the left is the most recent, it came from James Windibank doing personal business. The letter in the middle came from Windibank at his office. And the third came from ‘Hosmer Angel’,” he explained. “The day Miss Sutherland came asking for help, I sent a letter to the Federal Identity Commissioner with questions about if a wand permit is still needed to enter America. I signed using Mrs. Hudson’s name, so I could send another letter to him at his personal address inquiring if he would like to meet up to discuss Quidditch odds. I heard through the vine that he is an avid gambler.

“I sent the official letter first, and the personal letter the next day. He responded to both with the same green ink and style as that in Miss Sutherland’s letters,” concluded Sherlock.

“Now the question is, what do we do with the information,” John asked. “If she was under the potion’s influence for long enough, which I believe she was, no amount of evidence will convince her that Hosmer Angel wasn’t real.”

“You’re right,” Sherlock said. “I don’t think she’ll believe us at all. That doesn’t mean we can’t confront the prick about the situation though.”

“So, how would we go about doing that?”

“Well,” Sherlock said picking up the middle letter. “I have a meeting with him this evening at his house. Would you care to accompany me?”

Sherlock looked at John with a challenge in his eyes. John smiled mischievously matching Sherlock’s energy.

**Later That Day**

“How are we getting there?” John casually said sitting in the afternoon light.

“I had someone scope out a nice place to Apparate to near the house, but far enough that we will walk up to the front door. They gave me a nice drawing to accompany it. It’s really good, I might have to keep it,” he showed John the sketch. John was impressed by the sketch in his hands. _That guy needs a raise. I hope Sherlock gave them good money_. He thought. “I figure Apparating there shouldn’t be a problem.”

John nodded absently.

“Are you ready?” he asked Sherlock who had been memorizing the sketch.

“Yes, you?” Sherlock responded looking up.

“Yup, shall we?”

“We shall.” Sherlock held out his right hand for John to take. They stood there for a second before shooting into the unknown. They landed in the exact spot that the picture had been drawn in.

“Wow, really good picture,” John muttered taking in his surroundings before looking at the country home in front of them. They stood there several minutes looking at the magnificent view, hands still interlocked. When Sherlock’s eyes made it to the house, the mission came back into view and he recognized that he and John were still holding hands. John noticed this at the same time. They quickly remedied the situation and darted down the hill. The two of them walked up to the country home and knocked on the maroon door. It was opened by a middle-aged man who very obviously looked content with his life.

“Mr. Holmes?” the man asked.

“That’s me,” Sherlock said. “And this is my companion Dr. John Watson,” he gestured to John.

“Pleased to make both of your acquaintances. I am James Windibank, please come in,” said the man ushering them inside. James Windibank wore a navy blue open robe with matching shoes, his shirt, and pants both tailored and visible from the open robe. The corridor was brightly lit and had several family portraits on the walls, which watched Sherlock and John walk down the hallway.

Sherlock nudged John discretely grabbing his wand from his inner coat pocket and sliding it up his sleeve. John followed suit, watching the portraits as they moved, they almost looked nervous. He gently and quietly shoved his wand in his right sleeve right after Sherlock did. James took them into a small parlor with a small couch and a large comfortable chair. A shelf with Quidditch trophies sat in the corner near one of the windows, so you could immediately see it when someone walked in. A liquor cabinet was next to the trophy case under that window and a small desk faced the door with a smattering of papers all over the place and a Quick Quotes Quill writing furiously. The Quill ended the sentence it had been writing with a swish and set itself down on the desk as the men walked into the room.

“Take a seat, please,” Windibank said, directing them to the couch. John took a seat with a look from Sherlock that he would continue standing. Sherlock took in the small room and noticed a strange bottle on the desk as he made his way around the couch.

“That’s quite a trophy case you’ve got there Mr. Windibank,” John commented while pointing over at the case.

“Yeah, I played beater for the US team for a while. Please call me James,” he responded.

“What made you quit? You were obviously quite good,” John asked distracting him from Sherlock.

“It’s quite a story,” Windibank said walking over to the liquor cabinet and pulling out several glasses. “Firewhiskey?”

“Sure,” said John.

“Mr. Holmes?”

“I’m fine thank you,” Sherlock replied still strolling around the room. Windibank shrugged and started in on his tale of his costly injury during an international match. James told his story animatedly while sitting in the chair facing away from the desk. This gave Sherlock time to get a closer glance at the weird bottle.

The note that the Quick Quotes Quill had been scribbling looked identical to the letters that he had in his pocket. Sherlock sneered. John laughed in the background. A wonderful smell brought him closer to the small bottle on the desk. _Gotcha_ Sherlock thought.

“... and then I was told that I could work overseas and that was it. They told me they would make an arrangement with the Ministry and here I am,” Windibank finished.

“And when you got here, you found a wealthy family to exploit for your gambling tendencies,” Sherlock interjected loudly. This accusation stunned Windibank into silence for a good thirty seconds before he started sputtering.

“Pfft, and why would you say that Mr. Holmes?” he asked wearily. John sat back into the couch and prepared to watch the show.

“Well now John, where should I start?” Sherlock rhetorically asked John who shrugged and smiled in return. “We can start with Miss Sutherland.”

Windibank’s face blanched.

“She came to us on a count of a missing suitor. As she told her story, many things didn’t add up. When she handed us the letters an aroma came up that wasn’t to me what she had described, only a few things are able to produce such a conflict, but the most likely was Amortentia. The letters she’d received had been laced with it. I also noticed that they were written with a Quick Quotes Quill. They have their own distinct handwriting, but they still take on pieces of their owners. The combination of the Quill and the potion was very suspicious.

“Now the potion initially stumped me, where could someone get Amortentia so powerful that the scent and touch of it has lasting effects? Then I remembered reading that Thomas Sutherland had been heavily experimenting with increasingly difficult potions and ways to administer them. Who would have access and motive to use this potion and would want to mask their handwriting?”

“You can’t prove it was me,” Windibank accused arrogantly.

“Oh, but I can,” Sherlock stated. He was on a roll now. “The Quill in which her letters were written is the same as the Quill you use to do various businesses both personal and Ministry related. All of these letters have very distinct characteristics from the same Quill,” he flourished the letters from his pocket. “Mr. Windibank you are a disgrace to the name wizard and a terrible excuse for a person.”

As Sherlock finished speaking, Windibank rose from his chair. They glared at each other like it was a staring contest. Windibank drew his wand on Sherlock as John and Sherlock drew their wands on him.

“You really don’t want to do that mate,” John said intently. Slowly Windibank lowered his wand, only then to shout “STUPIFY!” Sherlock quickly disarmed him non-verbally before Windibank finished speaking.

“Now you get to deal with the fact that you may have caused your stepdaughter serious harm for the rest of your life,” John growled in Windibank’s ear. He at least had the brains to look defeated.

“We are confiscating the Amortentia, so you can no longer damage that poor girl,” Sherlock said sidestepping to the desk to put Windibank’s wand down and pick up the small bottle to cork it. He put the bottle in his coat and looked over to John, who was still threatening Windibank. “John, can you give us a minute?”

John gave him a questioning look and slowly backed out of the room with his wand still pointed at Windibank. He closed the door, knowing chaos would ensue, and low and behold an immediate raucous broke out in the parlor. He listened to the spells and curses Sherlock fired with a smile on his face. Several minutes later, Sherlock came out of the room, leaving a shell-shocked James Windibank behind him. Sherlock smiled at John and began walking down the corridor towards the front door.

“What’d you chat about?” John asked innocently.

“I eloquently made sure that he would never use a potion to take advantage of someone ever again. Or, really, just to take advantage of anyone, lest he wants me to come after him,” replied Sherlock smugly. John tried somewhat successfully to smother his laughter, so it only came out as a series of snickers. By the time they reached the front door, Sherlock had started giggling as well. The two of them stood on the walkway outside as they calmed down looking at each other.

“Home?” asked Sherlock holding out his hand.

“Home,” John smiled taking his hand. They apparated back to 221B.

Suddenly they appeared in the living room. John went off to the bathroom and left Sherlock standing there. He pulled the small bottle from his coat. Briefly, he opened the bottle from his coat and took a sniff before quickly closing is. The smell was so familiar, but he couldn’t exactly place it. He shrugged and re-corked the bottle before putting it on the table. _Figure it out later_ he thought as he went into the kitchen.


	2. The Potion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The parts I wanted to add on to finish the story for me, not for class.

Mrs. Hudson being “not their housekeeper” still came into the flat when they were out adventuring and at least dusted. Those boys were such a mess, but anytime she moved anything slightly to the left, she got an earful. They were out god knows where doing god knows what, she figured she had time to dust the living room at least.

She made her way around the living room, starting at the bookshelf to the left of the fireplace. She never understood why Sherlock kept the skull even after John moved it. She knew they could just magic everything clean if they wanted to, but did they ever do it? No. _Stupid wizards_ she thought. Mrs. Hudson only lightly dusted for them, but enough for it not to cake up. She looked out at the rest of the living room and sighed.

“Why do they never take their plates?” she muttered. “All the magic in the world and they can’t put their plates in the sink.” She picked up their breakfast plates and knocked over a small bottle. It fell on to the carpet and poured out.

“Oh shit,” Mrs. Hudson said annoyed. She put the plates back on the table and bent down to get the bottle. She wondered what it was because it smelt amazing. She took the bottle and plates to the sink and filled the bottle with water. She grabbed a rag from under the sink and tried to absorb some of the mess. It smelled so nice she just wanted to keep smelling it, but she got a hold of herself. Mrs. Hudson placed the bottle on the table and took her dust rag and the one she just ruined down to the laundry to wash immediately. Luckily, she didn’t get wet because she was wearing her cleaning gloves which she also threw in the wash.

**

Sherlock came home that night to an intoxicating smell in the living room. The familiarity of the smell was intense. He started looking around the room, the only thing he noticed was that Mrs. Hudson had dusted and taken their plates. _Maybe she sprayed something in the room._ He thought. _Though it smells more like John, like his aftershave, and rosemary, and that ink he uses._ Sherlock sat down in his chair and soaked in the smell, feeling very at home. Finally, about 20 minutes later, he decided to make his way to the kitchen to check on his experiments, they weren’t going to do themselves.

John came home several hours later finding Sherlock in the living room laying on the couch breathing deeply.

“Sherlock,” John said surprising Sherlock out of his stupor.

“Hmm,” he replied looking up at John softly. His look took John aback, John had never seen that look on Sherlock before.

“I was just wondering,” John started slowly. “Why did you decide to dump your bloody shampoo on the carpet?”

Sherlock gave him a confused look. That wasn’t what he smelled at all. He sat up on the couch and put his elbows on his knees.

“Do you smell anything else?” he asked with wide eyes.

“Tea,” John replied immediately.

“What kind?”

“Earl Grey of course,” he said like Sherlock was being stupid.

“Anything else,” Sherlock asked quietly. John huffed but humored him, nonetheless. He thought for a moment.

“Crisp morning,” he finally responded. “Like when you walk outside right before dawn and the air just has that certain clearness to it.”

Sherlock got up slowly and started looking around the flat. He knew what the smell meant but he couldn’t face those feelings right now, he needed to find where it had been split.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?” John asked as he put his stuff down on the coffee table. Sherlock was now on his hands and knees by John’s chair.

“Follow the smell,” was all he offered John. John rolled his eyes and set about following the delectable smell. He too ended up on his hands and knees while searching for the source. They both crawled a rough the living room until john stopped near the table next to the windows. He breathed deeply.

“Sherlock,” he called softly. Sherlock crawled over to confirm that this was the spot. He looked up on the table and saw the bottle of Amortentia. John followed his gaze inwardly cursing himself when he saw the bottle. Sherlock stood up and grabbed the bottle from the table. When light shone through the bottle it was clear that there were two different liquids in there.

“Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock called.

“Yes?” She asked when she made the landing.

“Did you do something to this?” he asked showing her the bottle.

“Well, I might’ve knocked it over when I was dusting, I figured it was just water, so I tried to refill it with that,” she explained. Sherlock looked down at John, who was still on the floor, then back at Mrs. Hudson.

“Ok, thank you please don’t touch or refill if you do something to something that has liquid it could be dangerous time to leave now bye,” Sherlock said in one breath ushering Mrs. Hudson out the door and shutting it before she could say anything. He turned back to John who hadn’t moved.

“John,” he said quietly walking over and sitting beside John.

“What do you smell?” John asked messing with his thumbnail in anxiety. Sherlock paused. He didn’t know how to respond to this knowledge. “Sherlock,” he said more earnestly. Sherlock took a deep breath.

“The weird purple ink you like to use, rosemary, and your aftershave,” he said in a low voice like someone would hear them, deciding that honesty was the best course of action. John nodded. They sat on the floor in silence for some time, both collecting their thoughts. Sherlock got his wand from his pocket and mumbled “scourgify” towards the stain to clean the residue.

“Sherl- “

“John- “They both started at the same time. Sherlock acknowledged that John should go first. John nodded and started again.

“Sherlock, why didn’t you tell me it was the Amortentia when I asked?”

“I didn’t really know until you asked about my shampoo,” he replied.

“Why did you press?”

“Curiosity,” Sherlock said. “It smells different to every person, so the only way to know what yours was was to ask.”

There was a drawn-out silence. Not exactly awkward, but not entirely comfortable either.

“Oh my god,” John mumble as something clicked in his head.

“What?” Sherlock asked looking worried.

“Wait, what did you smell again?”

“Your purple ink, it really has a distinct smell, rosemary, and you’re aftershave,” he responded. John took in the information again with his epiphany in his head.

“Sherlock,” he said carefully. John was treading new waters here. “Do you have feelings for me?” Sherlock’s eyes widened like a deer in headlights. He froze for a minute unsure of how to handle John’s epiphany. Instead of saying anything he took his right hand from his knees and put it palm up towards John. A small red daisy bloomed. He knew that daisies were John’s favorite and the implications of red in relation to flowers. John smiled, he put his left hand next to Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock looked up questioningly. He knew what John’s Amortentia scent meant but he didn’t think that John would act on it. John raised his eyebrows and a red poppy bloomed in his hand. He knew it was Sherlock’s favorite, he didn’t know why but he just did. Sherlock smiled at the flowers then at John.

“How long?” John inquired.

“How long what?”

“How long have you had feelings for me?” he asked scooting closer. Sherlock looked at him with a loving gaze.

“I don’t actually know,” Sherlock replied honestly. “What about you?”

“The moment you were chasing that niffler around the flat,” John said snickering at the end. Sherlock sighed and hung his head in embarrassment putting both hands through his hair. The flowers disappearing when they lost focus. John started laughing harder.

“I’ll admit it was not one of my brighter moments,” sherlock stated with his head on his knees. This made John laugh even harder prompting Sherlock to start giggling as well.

“But seriously Sherlock, that was the moment I fell in love with you,” John said between breaths. Their giggles slowed and the looked at each other.

“You love me?” Sherlock asked quietly with bright eyes.

“Of course, I do you, idiot,” John said. Sherlock looked at him in disbelief. “What?”

Sherlock took a moment to compose himself before responding.

“I just never thought someone would be able to love me,” he said looking down. John smiled sadly and reached out for Sherlock’s hand.

“Well you do now,” John whispered. Sherlock smiled and leaned his head towards John. They sat there with their heads together for a while.

“Sherlock,” John asked breaking the silence. Sherlock hummed in acknowledgment. “What’s your Patronus?”

Sherlock froze.

“It’s just out of curiosity. I mean I know that you can produce one based on the Fig incident, but I couldn’t make out what form it took,” he amended. Sherlock didn’t relax, but John could hear the wheels turning in his head. Finally, John could feel the man next to him decide something. Sherlock sat up a bit with a determined look on his face.

“Expecto Patronum,” he mumbled, and a small otter appeared in front of the two men. The otter wandered around the space for a bit before settling and putting its head on John’s lap.

“Huh,” John smiled.

“What?” Sherlock said with uncertainty.

“An otter makes sense for you,” he said. “Intelligent, fiercely protective of the ones they love. It makes sense.” Sherlock smiled.

“Well, what’s yours?” Sherlock asked.

“You don’t know?” John smirked.

“No, why would I have asked if I knew?”

John shrugged and waved his wand with the silvery-white mist coming out to form a hedgehog that came to rest on Sherlock’s otter.

“You cast that nonverbally,” Sherlock awed.

“Yeah,” said John. “It’s one of my best spells after healing spells.” Sherlock just sat there looking at John with awe and amusement. John was watching the two patronuses and how they acted with each other, content with each other and their place. John found that it was probably true of the wizards they belonged to. He turned to look at Sherlock, he flicked his eyes toward his lips and leaned in. Sherlock met him halfway. The otter wrapped itself around the hedgehog and the creatures sighed with contentment. As John tenderly kissed Sherlock he realized, his interpretations of their patronuses was correct. They were content. 

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter is the stuff I didn't submit for class


End file.
